


Ignition

by JoansGlove



Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [1]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26918209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: A little Screak to soothe my soul
Relationships: Joan Ferguson/Brenda Murphy
Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976404
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Her solid footsteps were absorbed by the gloom as she answered the single buzzer call. She surveyed the cell’s occupant then opened the door. “Calmed down yet?”

Joan blinked as the light flickered on, a scowl decorating her pale face. “You gave her my letter,” she accused.

“Yeah. I did.” Ferguson raised an eyebrow at Brenda’s apparent treachery.

“Why? She would have been perfectly satisfied with just the tablets.”

“Nah. She wouldn’t.” Brenda stared Joan up and down as if she should already know the reason. “This makes her trust me. The more she trusts me, the more likely she is to keep me around to spy on you. Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I do. But not like that.” Murphy shrugged. Joan sniffed in irritation.

“So, write another. If you’re good I’ll let you use a real pen. If you’re really good, I’ll even pay for the stamp myself.” 

She sounded like she couldn’t care less about what Vera had done, and despite herself, Joan couldn’t help but smirk at Murphy’s _fuck you_ attitude. “My, your generosity knows no bounds,” she replied drily.

“Yeah, I’m a giver, what can I say? What do you want?”

“I want a shower.”

“Against the rules this late. You should remember.”

“So is sloping off for a smoke during your shift or drinking alcohol in my office after hours, but that’s never stopped you, has it?” It was Brenda’s turn to smirk. Ferguson had a point.

“Alright, get your stuff.”

Skeins of lather slipped down Ferguson’s back, forking and regrouping as they navigated the muscle of her buttocks and slowly snaked their way down her long, shapely legs. The curve of her arse was mesmeric and Brenda itched for a cigarette. She made do with biting her lip.

“Are you watching me, Miss Murphy?” asked Joan over her shoulder.

There was a playfulness to Ferguson's low tone and Brenda tossed her chin, glancing away with a half-smile before her eyes returned to the glorious spectacle. “That’s what you brought me in here for, isn’t it? To watch?” The gleaming woman turned and Brenda cocked her head belligerently as Ferguson lavished her with a slow inspection, her gaze hooded and heavy as it felt its way up her body. “Could’ve supervised you just as well from out there,” she nodded towards the door. The half-smile was back as she met Ferguson's dark eyes once more.

“Mm, could have done. But you aren’t out there, are you? You’re right here.” Joan moved forward out of the spray and a faint, teasing sneer tightened her cheeks as her eyes flickered to the strong red of Murphy’s mouth. “On the threshold of my shower stall…” she continued, her voice dropping to a husky, conspiratorial whisper. “Close enough to touch me if you wanted to…”

For a moment there was nothing but the look that passed between them – it fairly crackled in the damp air – then Brenda laughed and casually ogled Ferguson's stunning tits. “If _I_ wanted to? You mean you, don’t you?”

“Me, you, does it matter? It’s going to happen regardless.”

Ferguson closed the gap between them and Brenda’s mouth slackened as the naked woman’s thumb dragged slowly over her bottom lip, smearing her lipstick down her chin as she leaned in and kissed her. 


	2. Chapter 2

Murphy looked completely unfazed as Joan pulled away, only the diamonds sparkling in her eyes betrayed her apparent indifference, and Joan graced her with a look of grudging approval as she stepped back under the water, turning her back to Murphy once more as she reached for the soap. She was powerfully excited by their exchange and her tongue slipped out, tasting lipstick and the ashy whisper of cigarettes. She wanted this woman’s hands on her. She wanted to feel that luscious mouth of hers sliding over her skin. Age had thickened Murphy’s figure, muted the angles of her cheeks and jaw; she had a tendency towards coarseness and her smoking was a filthy habit, but she aroused Joan in ways she couldn’t explain.

But she liked that she knew where she stood with Murphy. The woman worked for a wage at a job that she could excel at should she find the desire to advance the ranks. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. In fact, she didn’t seem afraid of much at all – including Joan herself - and she didn’t care if her opinions pleased or displeased. Cynical in outlook, acerbic of wit, she was the only member of her staff that had the confidence to tell it to her straight, the only member of her staff that Joan had ever thought of with a smile. And out of them all, she was the only one who wasn’t gleefully judging her. The only one who could be counted on as an ally. A friend, even.

Chewing at the remnants of her lipstick, she was glad that Ferguson had turned her back. Brenda sagged against the wall, a hot buzz sawing at her vitals. Fuck. Fucking Ferguson. Fuck! It had been coming though. She was the queen of the ambiguous comment, a sly flirt. But it was in her eyes that Brenda saw it. The way that her smile always reached them with her. The way they lingered on her mouth. And she had matched Ferguson hint for hint, knowing that they wanted the same thing.

The weekend before the fire, Ferguson had raised her game, appearing on Brenda’s doorstep – all ‘accidental’ cleavage, hair and hips – with early morning coffee and pastries, and when Ferguson had gone, she’d leaned against the front door and shoved her hand down her jeans – just like she wanted to do right now.

“What are you? Some kind of mermaid? C’mon, time’s up.” She nodded and pursed her lips appreciatively as the water stopped and Ferguson faced her. _That’s one proud woman_ , she thought to herself, _and rightly so_. Joan warmed under Murphy’s unashamed stare as she blotted the water from her skin with slow sweeps of the towel. Wrapping her hair up, she wore the turbaned towel like a crown as she exited the stall, scraping past Murphy as she made for her robe. But she wasn’t done quite yet. She knew the guard’s eyes were on her as she placed her foot on the wooden bench and smoothed lotion up her leg, turning to eye Murphy suggestively as she teasingly massaged it into her inner thigh. The other leg got the same treatment and then she turned to Murphy, splaying her long fingers as she invitingly stroked the curve of her belly. She felt her pleasure play out on her face as her hands skimmed up the sweep of her body until she cupped her breasts, displaying – but not offering – them to the woman whose glittering eyes were fastened to the small circular movements of her thumbs as she teased her nipples to full attention.

“Do my back?” she suggested casually, dropping her hands and holding out the tube of cream. Her seductive gaze flicked between Murphy’s faded ruby lips as they quivered in lust and her dark eyes, wide with undisguised desire.

Recovering herself, Brenda limped over to Ferguson, her cunt throbbing wetly with every step. “French,” she commented huskily with a raised eyebrow as she closed her hand around Ferguson's before sliding the tube from her grip. “Fancy.” She rolled up her sleeves. The lotion was cool, Ferguson's skin hot. The feel of Ferguson beneath her hands made her stagger. She didn’t know that she wasn’t breathing as her thumbs traced the length of Ferguson's spine, that her lip was caught tightly between her teeth as she spread her fingers over the swell of that high, firm arse. A bolt of sensation made her thighs clench as she let her fingertips slide lower and map the curve of Ferguson's creamy inner thigh, and at last they shared a fractured sigh as tendrils of Ferguson's dark bush tickled her fingers with damp heat.

“Just think,” she murmured, “If you hadn’t burned down the joint we could have been doing this months ago.”

“Would you believe me if I said that it was because I was shy?”

She had to laugh. “No.”

Her fingers found Murphy’s thigh but Joan barely had chance to trail their tips over poly-blend of her skirt before her arm was twisted behind her back. She laughed softly as her open palm was filled with Murphy’s sweatered breast and she was pulled against her sturdy body, held fast with a hand at her throat and a forearm across her navel. She wished that there was a decent mirror in here so that she could watch the two of them, see Murphy’s face as she bit into her shoulder, watch her expression as she took Murphy’s hand and guided it from her hipbone to the springy fluff between her legs.

Brenda exhaled harshly into Ferguson's neck. She was hot and slick, and she moved against her curling fingers as if they’d been fucking for years. “Shit, Ferguson. Talk about nought to sixty in under ten seconds!”

“My dear, Miss Murphy,” she panted, “We are barely out of the garage.” Her hand found Murphy’s other thigh and there was no resistance this time as she tugged her skirt up to her hip, only a hot groan against her neck.

“Fuuuckk!!!” rasped Brenda as her leg slipped against Ferguson's.

Then Wentworth crashed in as her radio burbled into life. “Sierra four to sierra seven. Open the airlock.” 

“Mother fucker!” she growled, letting go and wiping her fingers on Ferguson's hip. “Get dressed,” she ordered and marched smartly out of the shower room.

“Where the hell have you been?” demanded Angie Tsaoussis as the gate opened and she stepped into no-man’s land.

Brenda shook her head. “Fucking Ferguson,” she said and buzzed her in. “Got taken by surprise. We were just getting her plugged up. Isn’t that right?” she asked as they both turned to stare at the prisoner swaying in the doorway.

At the sight of her Tsaoussis swallowed nervously and stepped closer. “Governor wants to see you in her office,” she said in a low voice.

Brenda scowled. “Fuck’s sake. Alright, I’ll just lock her back in. Unless you want to do it?” She snorted as the other officer shook her head and scuttled out of their way. “Alright, Ferguson, let’s go.” She jerked her head towards Ferguson’s cell and fell in behind her as she shuffled past.

“Think you’ll be back tonight?” asked Joan quietly.

“Wouldn’t count on it.” They shared a sneer of contempt for Vera.

“You going to watch Westfall again after shift?”

Brenda unlocked the door. “Why? Already know they’re banging.” Ferguson stepped inside and shook her hair free from the towel and Brenda suddenly wanted to feel it against her bare skin.

“Sure she’s living there, though?”

She blew out a held breath. “If she isn’t then I’m Bob Hawke.”

“Be awful if someone happened to let that slip to Doyle’s Parole Officer. Wouldn’t it?” Her eyebrows flickered in amusement as Murphy’s face creased in an evil grin.

“Tragic,” she agreed. “Sweet dreams, Ferguson.”


End file.
